


The Usual Suspects

by hanktalkin



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, Gen, jailbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:05:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8486911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: I think I've lost my mind
  
  I'm feeling so alive
  
  What a pity, it's so pretty
  
  Looking through the bars and I see my city

 Geoff was bound to get caught sooner or latter. But how can he be expected to be careful when ruling the world is just so damn fun?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It’s not passé to use Hollywood Undead songs for fahc stuff right? It is? well shit I’m doing it anyways

Everyone’s number comes up at some point.

The implication of that phrase is that once your time comes, you’re not going to bother anyone anymore. Which Geoff thinks is pretty fucking stupid considering his number came up about eight months ago and he’s still doing his damndest to annoy the hell out of anyone in his vicinity.

The first time he’d ever been dragged into the LSPD interrogation room, he was out in a matter of hours. He didn’t own half of Los Santos just to buy some two-bit lawyer who couldn’t tell a plant from a genuine .44 Magnum, after all. He spent the entire interrogation looking politely bored, turning aside each accusation with a quip and a slight grin. Detective Luna was getting frustrated, that much was obvious, and Geoff marveled how easy it was to get the goat of Los Santos’s supposed “finest.”

Eventually, Geoff really did get bored of the endless questions that were just rephrases of the same ten demands. He became chattier, going off topic, eventually asking how Luna’s new wife was doing.

Luna froze. Geoff repeated the question, asking for her by name. He then made a long lament about how he wished he would have been able to attend the wedding but it seemed his invitation had gotten lost in the mail. That was enough for Luna to snap, the man grabbing Geoff by the collar of his shirt and slamming his face down on the steel table.

“ _Don’t you ever talk about her again you sonovabitch!_ ” Luna practically spit.

Geoff smiled. He laid his cheek on the table, the handcuffs making it uncomfortable, but possible. Blood dribbled from his broken nose onto the shiny surface, creating red reflections in the dented silver. His eyes flicked from Luna to the two-way mirror and back again.

“Think they saw that?”

After that, he lawyer didn’t even need to go over the evidence. The times after that were similar, the LSPD doing all in their power to keep him clapped in irons. They eventually stopped throwing Luna at him, trying Dunkelman, Sorola, Heyman; none of them stuck. He never threatened, of course—that was a good way to spend a night in the clinker—but he asked, curious and polite, framing questions he already knew the answer to. Eventually, he put in a personal request for police chief Burns to start doing his cross-examinations, all this small fry getting kind of dull.

It was a joke, in truth. So, when Burnie Burns actually stepped into the now familiar interrogation, Geoff felt real surprise for the first since the start of this farse. He had nothing on Burns, either the man had no family, no vices, no past, or he was much better at hiding it than the rest of his force. But it didn’t matter. Shaking away his doubts, Geoff reaffirmed himself that he didn’t become the leader of California’s most successful crime organization by not being able to think on the fly.

They went through the usual motions. Burns asked, Geoff wisecracked, and eventually Geoff Ramsey forgot anything about this not being routine.

It was almost over when Burns leaned over the table.

“Everyone’s number comes up at some point, Ramsey,” Burns threatened, his voice calm and even, not the least bit put off by Geoff’s behavior. “Maybe not today, maybe not the next time you find your way into my station, but eventually you’re going to slip up. And when you do, we’ll be there.”

Despite the temperature in the room dropping at least ten degrees, Geoff managed a grin anyway. “Why chief, if I slipped up, that implies I would have done something _wrong_.”

Burns wasn’t even annoyed. He picked up his folder, pushed in his chair, and left the room without a glance.

* * *

They got him good.

And not just _good_ , but _airtight_ good. Security videos, eyewitnesses, enough DNA evidence to clone him; it was like every measure he had ever set up failed all at once. He supposed Burns was right; he was bound to get caught sooner or latter. But it was that feeling of invulnerability that kept him grounded, kept his crew interested, kept the job fun.

Kinda hard to have fun staring at the inside of a cell.

Luna tried not to look smug when they brought him in and failed. They gave him the ole’ _we got enough on you for three lifetime sentences, give up your accomplices and we can work out a deal blah bla bla blah_. Geoff really wasn’t in the mood, and almost let his calm demeanor slip long enough to tell them to go fuck themselves. But instead, he smiled, asked _what accomplices?_ and let them throw him in the Los Santos Penitentiary for the rest of his life. His image was everything, after all. He was Ramsey: cool, collected, maybe complacent with the empire he had built around him, but always smiling with calm, lazy eyes. That’s what made people underestimate him: his easy-going nature made them think he wasn’t watching.

But no one ever sees the viper until they step on it. No one ever thinks Ramsey is a threat until they come after his crew.

Maybe Burns and his cronies thought throwing him in here would weaken him. After all, separated from his crew, cut off from his recourses, he was just insignificant as every other small-time criminal in this hellhole, right?

Although, what the LSPD had failed to account for when the locked him up was that he wasn’t _really_ alone. As many enemies that he had made in prison, he had a hell of a lot more friends.

Bragg was easy to track down, of course. Collins, too. The two of them had kept tight, and Geoff had made sure to send them goodie baskets every now and again, promising them jobs once they got back out. (No one would ever say Geoff didn’t look after his own.) There were others, too, but the two B Team members were his link to the outside world: they had been pinned for a couple of stolen vehicles, and were getting out in five months top. They didn’t have restricted communications like Geoff did, and he was able to discreetly send some coded messages back home.

Unfortunately, _love you, miss you, wish you were here,_ didn’t quite fit in the PS. If only the Los Santos Penitentiary sold postcards.

 _It won’t be long_ , Geoff thought, seven months after his arrest. He rested his head against the wall, preferring to sleep sitting up instead of on the hard mattress. His cell was private, the guards thinking he might start recruiting from inside their walls if a left alone with unsuspecting criminals. Privacy was nice, but it couldn’t beat satin sheets and a view from his penthouse window. He missed that view. He could look out every night and see his city.

That wasn’t the only thing he missed.

He missed shouting in front of the TV, controllers being thrown at expensive vases. He missed the loud squawking laughter, followed by someone else’s softer giggle. He missed the quiet menace that occasionally stalked his home, violence running just as deep as its loyalty. And he missed the gentle comfort of company at breakfast, reading the paper while the coffee cooled.

He thought he might be loosing his mind, but that didn’t matter. They would come for him soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Eight months in, and they came for him.

It was just as theatrical as Geoff had come to expect.

Sunday. The alarms went off as a helicopter swung into view of the yard. Geoff raised a hand to block out the sun, watching the chopper’s shadow passed over the inmates and debating whether or not he should pretend to be suprised. Geoff used his other hand to give a friendly wave. It would take at least thirty-eight seconds for the prison’s own choppers to spring into action, and Ryan wasn’t waiting around to meet him. The chopper flew overhead, dropped a bit of cargo, and began to drawn the enemy choppers off in the other direction.

The “cargo” unfurled a giant Union Jack, blocking out the sunlight with its canvas. Eventually, the cargo hit the ground running, not bothering to detach its parachute before tackling Geoff in a hug.

“Geoffrey!” was all Geoff heard before he was embraced by four gangly limbs. Gavin Free hand jumped on him like a monkey, wrapping him in the most off balancing “nice to see you” hugs Geoff had ever received.

“Hey, Free. Long time no see.”

“That rhymed!” Gavin yelled into Geoff’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Geoff agreed. “And you know what else rhymes? Get off of me.”

Gavin detached himself, not the least bit put out. He held out Geoff at arms length and grinned, only to have his face collapse a moment later. “Geoff! They made you shave your mustache!”

“Did they?” Geoff asked as Gavin’s hands clasped him by his bare face. “I didn’t notice.”

“Why??” Gavin asked with the same distress he’d have if Geoff had said he’d put down his dog.

Los Santos’s baby-faced crime lord shrugged. “Maybe they thought I’d hide a shank in it.”

Gavin took another few moments to process the news, all the while the yard descended into further chaos. When if Gavin had finally come to mournful terms with the loss, he patted Geoff on the shoulder and said, “well, at least you’re out now.”

“Not yet,” Geoff noted. “We still have a hundred plus prison guards between us and freedom. Where’s our ride going?”

Gavin shook his head. “Rye and J are going to circle back around. Jack’s picking us up in another chopper.”

Geoff’s heart jumped at the name, and he immediately quieted it. Of course Jack was okay. They were all though. They could survive a few months without him. Although, considering Gavin had managed to find a way to almost strangle himself while taking off the parachute, maybe he gave them more credit than they deserved. Geoff sighed, and bent down to help.

“Remind me again why Jack picked _you_ to do my extraction?” Geoff asked with a shake of his head.

“Well,” Gavin grinned, “they don’t call me Gavin _Free_ for nothing.”

“Hilarious. How long have you been waiting to use that?”

“Four months.”

The yard had started to clear, the guards either pulled to the other side of the compound, or dead. Gavin noticed the thinning crowds too, dropping his backpack to the floor and pulling some weapons out of it. He handed Geoff a pistol.

“Ha. That’s funny. Now where’s my real gun?”

Gavin handed him an AK 47.

“That’s better.”

Geoff tried to hand the pistol back to Gavin, but the younger man merely shook his head. “You keep it, could come in useful.”

“I don’t have any pockets you fucking moron. I’m wearing a fucking orange jumpsuit.”

Gavin nodded sagely. “On the upside, orange looks very good on you.”

The yard was completely clear now, and they took off while Gavin directed them to the rendezvous.

“You know,” Geoff said, dropping a couple of pair of guards unlucky enough to round the corner, “back in my day, we’d just tunnel our way out with spoons.”

“Like you expect anything less from us,” Gavin chuckled, shooting his mentor a grin.

At his words, the other side of the prison exploded in a shower of light, a mushroom cloud where the cafeteria used to be. It reflected itself in Gavin’s sunglasses, both the ones on his eyes and the pair pushed up into his hair. Geoff whistled.

“Man,” he said, “Even without me you guys still have style. I hope you haven’t replaced me with a new leader or something.”

“Nah,” Gavin said. “We’re a mess, Geoff, but we’re your mess.”

They made their way through the compound, bantering and killing everyone in their wake. It’s so good to be out. To be back, living in the chaos with his boys.

Well… _boy_.

When Geoff mentioned he couldn’t wait to get the gang back together, it reminded Gavin of something. He pulled something from his pack, handing an earpiece to Geoff with a kind smile. When Geoff put the piece in, it was like greeting an old friend. Immediately, familiar voices filled his ear, speaking with excitement and passion that he had missed his months in isolation.

“I’m on your left, don’t shoot me,” Ryan droned evenly. He wasn’t using his Vagabond voice, which probably meant he wasn’t allowed ground duty.

“I’m not!” Michael screeched back. From the background noises, that seemed to be his job.

“Alright,” Gavin interrupted, “Geoff’s on the line, be on your best behavior.”

“Hi Geoff!” Jeremy greeted immediately.

“ **Fuck you, you fucking fuck!** ” Michael yelled. “That wasn’t directed at you Geoff. Good to see you.”

Geoff snorted. “Nice to hear you too, Jones.”

“Hey Boss,” Ryan said. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

It was as close to “I missed you” as Ryan would ever get, but Geoff would take it. He held his breath. That was five. There was one more voice he still hadn’t heard…

“Hey Geoff,” Jack heaved, her voice heavy with concentration. “I’m glad to have you back. Sorry I was quiet, tying to shake a couple choppers on my tail.”

Geoff breathed a sigh or relief. He looked up, barely seeing the distance.

“Need help?” Ryan offered.

“No, I got it. You pick up Gavin and Geoff, I’ll grab Michael when he’s done having fun.”

“That’ll be a long time, Jack,” Michael put in helpfully over the whirl of a minigun. “I am on _distraction_ and I am going to distract the hell out of them until God himself comes down here and tells me to fuck off. And maybe not even then.”

Geoff could see Jack shaking her head in his mind’s eye, and quelled the disappointment in his chest. He’d see her soon enough.

“Well,” Ryan said, sharing Jack’s exasperation, “I guess me and Jeremy will be seeing you soon.”

“ **Suck it pig!** ” Michael’s comm crackled helpfully.

Geoff closed his eyes and sighed.

“Guys, you’re never going to believe this guys,” Gavin couldn’t help but interrupt, “but Geoff shaved his mustache!”

Geoff sighed again as the conversation descended into cries of disbelief and outrage, occasionally peppered by expletives from Michael’s end. It kept going all the way up to the meeting point. Finally, Geoff couldn’t take it any more turning off his earpiece and watching Ryan and Jeremy’s chopper draw ever closer.

Gavin gazed over the prison, now devoid of any worthwhile targets. There was a smoking ruin where Michael had started his rampage, and the flicker of gunfire from Jack’s chopper. All in all, it was a pretty good rescue mission.

“Missed you, Geoff,” Gavin said softly, a smile tugging his lips as he looked at the carnage.

Geoff put his arm over Gavin’s shoulders, looking past the prison to the city beyond. To his city. No, _their_ city.

“Missed you too, Gavvers.”

They waited in silence for their ride to freedom.


End file.
